


Rainy Days

by glorious_spoon



Series: Hurt/Comfort Bingo 2020 [6]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Chronic Pain, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28489059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/pseuds/glorious_spoon
Summary: In a lot of ways, Eliot knows he’s lucky, for a certain value of lucky. He’s alive, for one thing, which was never in the odds for a man like him. He’s alive, and he’s in good enough shape to do the job and do it well. The fact that there are some rainy days when he has to pop a handful of painkillers to get out of bed for a job or huddle under the blankets with a heat pack if there isn’t one...well, that’s pretty much to be expected.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Series: Hurt/Comfort Bingo 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1809127
Comments: 12
Kudos: 117
Collections: Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 11





	Rainy Days

**Author's Note:**

> For a tumblr prompt from dragonsthough101; also fulfills the 'chronic pain' square on my H/C Bingo card.

Some wounds never heal quite right, and some scars never fade.

It’s the kind of thing Eliot thinks that, if he said it to Nate, he’d get either a sneer or a thoughtful nod and a dissertation on sin and redemption, depending on the mood. Sophie and Hardison would both be more tactful about it, but Parker is the only one who’d probably _get_ what he means without him having to break it down into humiliating detail.

Parker, who is just about as blunt and literal as they come. Parker, who’s been wrecking her body for the job since before she hit puberty.

Parker, who probably has a few badly-healed old injuries of her own, all things considered. She’s just young enough still that they still rest easy on her.

In a lot of ways, Eliot knows he’s lucky, for a certain value of lucky. He’s _alive_ , for one thing, which was never in the odds for a man like him. He’s alive, and he’s in good enough shape to do the job and do it well. The fact that there are some rainy days when he has to pop a handful of painkillers to get out of bed for a job or huddle under the blankets with a heat pack if there isn’t one...well, that’s pretty much to be expected.

It becomes difficult, though, after he starts spending most of his nights in Parker and Hardison’s bed.

That’s how he keeps thinking about it, even after this thing between them has been going on for months. He’s pretty sure that Hardison, at least, would have some problems with that characterization, so he doesn’t say it out loud. Parker, he’s not so sure about. Parker keeps her safehouses, he knows, but that seems to be more habit than anything: the instinct of something that’s spent most of its life hunted to have a safe place to go to ground. She doesn’t seem to doubt, on any conscious level, that Hardison will keep wanting her there.

Eliot is still waiting for the other fucking shoe to drop.

Parker is the one who finds him one bad morning. He had the foresight to go back to his place when it started getting bad, and it’s not like he actually _told_ either of them where that is, but he’s not that surprised when Parker swings in through his window after he’s finally given up on sleeping and is making himself tea, moving with slow cautious motions like he’s an old man.

He’s a little surprised when she just drops a kiss on his cheek, then crosses the apartment to open the door.

Hardison, of course, is on the other side of it.

Eliot groans. “Look, I’m not really in the mood for—”

“I feel like you’re seriously misunderstanding the purpose of this visit,” Hardison says, leaning down to kiss him lightly on the mouth. “Go sit down on the couch. I’ll make your damn tea.”

“Hardison—”

“Come on,” Parker says, and wraps her fingers around his wrist. Her grip is strong, but he could throw her off if he wanted to. He doesn’t. He’s too fucking tired, and everything aches, the Ibuprofin he took earlier doing the bare minimum of taking the edge off. It’s humiliating to be seen like this, and worse still to realize that they both must already know, since they’re _here_ in the first place, but—

Well, if he has to trust anyone, there are worse choices he could make.

He lets Parker lead him over to the couch and get him settled, tucking the blanket around him with military efficiency, and closes his eyes to the sounds of Hardison puttering around his kitchen. He might actually doze at some point; he opens his eyes when the couch shifts and Hardison settles onto the cushion next to him, setting something down on the coffee table with a hard clink.

“Better be a coaster under that,” he mumbles.

Hardison’s hand settles warmly on the nape of his neck, kneading lightly at the sore muscles. “Keep your hair on, man, of course there is. I was raised right, unlike some people around here.”

“He means me,” Parker interjects brightly, dropping onto Eliot’s other side.

Eliot rasps out a laugh, then says, “What the hell are you guys doing here? I ain’t exactly good company right now?”

“You’re never good company,” Hardison says easily, and doesn’t move his hand from Eliot’s shoulder. With his free hand, he turns the TV on; Eliot braces for some esoteric nerd shit, but instead Hardison pulls up ESPN before sinking back against the couch. “Drink your tea and watch some dudes in tight pants beat the hell out of each other.”

“Remind me to explain football to you— _again_ —when I feel a little less shitty,” Eliot grumbles, but he settles deeper into the couch between them and obeys.


End file.
